


Help From A Friend

by Dubdubs



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Profanity, Rick is a good choice to ask for help, Totally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubdubs/pseuds/Dubdubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his twin's disappearance into a portal into time and space, Stanley is becoming desperate. He hadn't even graduated high school, how was he supposed to rebuild a portal machine! Desperate, he decides to ask for some help...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Call

Stanley Pines was definitely not a nerd. He wasn't some sort of genius, or mathematician, he hadn't even graduated High School! Any other time, Stan Pines would have taken a left hook to whatever machine was getting on his nerves, and then stealthily snuck away before the proper owner could see who'd destroyed their damned hoosit-what-sies. Needless to say, that couldn't happen this time. The man idly scratched at his chin scruff, squinting his eyes as he flipped through yet another physics textbook. "Agh…I need to get some glasses." He'd stopped wearing them as a kid, figured he didn't need them and he didn't want to look like a huge dorkus. His brother could do that for the both of them! A brief smile tugged on his lips, before Stan glanced back up at the machine in front of himself and the smile fell fast.

Stan heaved a heavy sigh, resting both of his palms on his knees as he looked up at the machine helplessly. The last place he'd seen his brother…hard to believe it had already been a few months…maybe a year? Year and a half? Stan didn't like keeping count. He looked back down at the textbook, trying as hard as he could to concentrate. Force all of this…gibberish into something more like pure and simple English. And since when did math get LETTERS in it? Several minutes ticked by, though they might as well have been hours to him, before the man grabbed the textbook and hurled it across the room, clattering onto the floor. "NYAUGH!" If he couldn't hit that stupid machine, he'd just take his fury out on this stupid book! Stan pulled himself to his feet, completely intent on ripping every piece of paper out of the book before his knees buckled beneath himself. "Whoa, whoa…!" His arms pin wheeled around, attempting to find his balance. He stumbled onto one knee and winced, wrapping an arm around his stomach as a shooting pang shot through it. He'd gone hungry enough times to know what this was…how long had he been down here, anyway?

Stan reached over and scooped up a lantern, ascending up the elevator and the stairs to leave the room alone. All it ever did was make him upset and angry anyway. Shutting the door behind himself, Stan stepped over to one of the windows and squinted out of it. Already, he could hear the sound of chirping birds. The sun was gonna come up soon, which meant it was time for another day of mystery. Money or no money, Stan Pines felt like absolute shit. He was tempted to call in a personal day, but a quick glance in the pantry told him he needed more food. Stay open, it was. "Ugh…" He needed some help…someone smart. Someone who could be trusted! "…" Yeah, no, there wasn't really anyone Stan knew that could be trusted to watch over an ant farm, let alone rebuild a giant portal machine to bring his brother back! All of the people in this town were a bunch of idiots, and anybody he knew from his time on his own thought he was dead. There was no one who could be trusted with sensitive information about his brother, magic technology stuff, and faking one's death!

…A grin grew on Stan Pine's face. Perhaps there was one guy…one man who had been through enough shit to not ask any questions! And smart enough to help him rebuild the machine! A new vigor in him now, Stan opened the fridge and grabbed out a carton of milk, taking a deep swig. "Ah!" That finished that jug off. Stan wiped his mouth with his wrist before chucking the carton behind himself, peeking into the fridge for some actual food. "Hm…" If he was going to track down Rick, he'd need to buy more booze.

* * *

"And over here, ladies and gentlemen, you'll find the elusive Antel-abbit! A freak of nature, it was born from an _unholy_ union between a rabbit and some…antelope thing!" Stan Pines, man of Mystery, was in the 'groove'. The fancy shirt and tie bit seemed to be enough to make people overlook how disheveled his hair was, and how bushy his facial scruff was becoming. For a moment, Stan was able to lose himself in his own little scam. Right now he was Stanford Pines, a simple man with a simple Hut, weaving tales to losers for cash! The group he was entertaining was a modest bunch, the usual dopey kids with their stupid grandparents. People taking pictures of everything but the exhibit he was hawking…it was a usual day at the shack.

"Uh…don't you mean a J-Jack-a-lope?" A voice stuttered out. It sounded familiar... Stan turned to face the heckler. At the back of the group was a slim and tall man, close to Stan's own age, with a wild head of hair. He had on a long sleeved blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of jeans. Any insults Stan was concocting died on his tongue, staring back at the man in shock. He couldn't believe how fast he had come... Or, that he had come after all! Usually Rick was as reliable as a lawyer. Rick didn't react at all in kind, taking a swig of a flask and burping under his breath before continuing. "And Jack-A-Lopes aren't even made by hybrid breeding, they come here through a p-portal near L-L-Las Vegas from the dimension **XY67FCG.** _Sheesh_ Stan, if you're going to have a shi-shittier version of 'Ripley's Believe It Or Not', you need to step it up. Or at least get your facts straight." Rick kept a neutral, almost bored look upon his face as he took yet another swig.

Stan blinked several times before scowling, eyes roaming over his customers as they began to mumble to themselves. "Don't mind him, folks! This guy's just some drunken _looooser_." Obnoxiously elongating the word, he grinned at the other man, waiting to see if he'd take the bait. From the sight of that narrowed, bushy unibrow, it looks like he had. Sucker.

"Yeah, you'd know all about being a drunken loser, wouldn't you." Even though the other man had turned away, attempting to look aloof, Stan could tell he was pissed off. Easy as pie, even after all these years!

All grins, Stan pulled out a bag and waved it at his customers. "Closing time for the Murder Hut! If you want to leave alive, you have to pay five dollars!" Successfully distracted, the customers chuckled at what they assumed was a joke and threw their money in like they always did. As if receiving some silent message, Rick didn't move to leave with everybody else. While Stan took his day's work to the register to stash away the cash, Rick stepped closer to inspect the 'Antel-abbit' that was mounted on a simple wooden block.

"Did you just…just take horns and glue them onto a stuffed animal? This thing is-is-is-is blue, Stan. BLUE." He sounded incredulous, prodding at the antlers. "This is just shoddy craftsmen work." Rick sighed, as if honestly disappointed. "If you needed stupid shit for this place, you could have just asked me, I could have engineered some r-r-reeeeeal hybrids for you."

_**SNAP.** _

The glue cracked, antler falling onto the ground with a noisy clatter. Both men jolted at the sound, before Stan fixed the other man with a flat gaze. "I was actually kinda proud of that one." Both men stared at each other again, the slimmer one taking another, deeper swig of his flask this time before he suddenly whipped out a futuristic gun. In two steps, Rick was right in front of Stan, the butt of his weird gun aimed for Stan's throat. "WHOA, HEY!" Stan winced as the gun whirred, heat wafting from the thing dangerously. "Rick, what are yo-"

"WHO THE F-FUUUCK ARE YOU!" Rick roared into his face, glaring at him.

"Hey hey, it's me! Stan Pines!"

"BULLSHIT!" Rick pressed the butt of the gun closer, Stan flinching as it singed some of his five o'clock shadow. " **STAN PINES IS DEAD**! A-and-and there's no WAY you're that brother of his! You have _five fingers_! So you're either-!" The man paused to belch, Stan's nose crinkling at the stench. "E-e-either some sort of-of CLONE or you're a SHAPESHIFTER! So WHICH IS IT?!"

"Hey Rick, come on, you can tru-LEFT HOOK!" Stan's fist swung out, clocking Rick in the face. He dropped to the ground, the gun flying across the room from the force of the punch. Stan positioned himself between it and Rick, who was glaring at him and seemed to be ignoring the trail of blood coming from his nose. "I didn't want to have to hit ya, Rick, but…well actually, you deserve it." Stan smirked, but Rick didn't return it.

"You punch j-just like him…" Rick sounded shocked, even a little horrified. It was unsettling, to say the least. The slimmer man seemed to shrink on the ground, frowning deeply.

The stockier man frowned. "I _am_ him, I…I'm sorry, Rick. I had to fake my death. Something…happened, and it's why I brought you here-"

"You mean tracked down my ex-wife-that was r-reeeeally creepy by the way-and pretended like you were some sort of bounty hunter out for my skin." The shock had left his voice, dull look returning to his eyes as his hands expertly found the same flask he'd been drinking from. He didn't take another swig just yet, merely curling his hands around the container as he stared back at Stan, waiting for an answer.

Stan chuckled, almost sheepish as he gave the man a shrug. "Well, would she have sent you over to me if she thought I was your friend?"

That actually earned a chuckle. "Of course not! Don't be rick-diculous." Rick brought his hand up to his nose, staring down at the blood on his palm and narrowing his eyes at Stan. "You **d-dick**."

Stan reached a hand out for Rick to grab. "Just like old times, huh?"

Rick sneered, wiping his palm on his jeans to get rid of the blood. "Yeah, except for this shit-show you call a house." Despite the man's salty tone, he grabbed Stan's hand and pulled himself up. The two of them stared at each other awkwardly, both taking in how they had changed over the years. "…You l-look like shit." Rick stepped forward and took a sniff. His nose crinkled instantly. "You smell like shit, too."

"Yeah, well, at least I don't have any gray hairs." Stan's eyes landed squarely on the hair atop Rick's head. What had once been a very dark shade of black was now speckled and streaked with a weird bluish gray. "I don't remember you having some sort of blaster gun thing either. What the hell have you been getting into since I left, Rick?"

A somber look fell over the slim man's face, and for a moment Stan realized that it was probably how he himself looked whenever he thought about what had happened in the basement. Rick sighed and pulled out his flask once more. "Y-you don't wanna know…" He took a greedy swig this time, gulping down seemingly every drop of alcohol.

Stan's eyes briefly glanced to the kitchen. "Hey, I hear ya buddy. You know…" Stan wrapped a burly arm around Rick's narrow shoulders, bringing him close and jostling his mouth free from the flask. That earned Stan a glare he ignored. "I've got some beers with our names written on them in the fridge!"

"O-oh yeah? I bet I can still drink your ass under the table!"

"Haha! I bet you're _wrong_!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: So I started on this ficlet back when 'A Tale Of Two Stans' aired! After seeing that episode, it became immediately clear to me that a crossover with Rick and Morty was VERY plausible. I've seen art of Rick and Stan being crime buds, even lovers, but I haven't seen much potential regarding Stan turning to his old friend for help with SCIENCE! Of course, Rick being Rick... This ain't gonna work out.
> 
> More to come, I hope you enjoyed reading this little thing!


	2. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of drinking, Stan brings Rick up to speed and finally shows him exactly what he needs help with. Rick remains unimpressed, both with the machine and with Stan's reasons for calling him after all these years.

Was getting drunk with the man who was supposed to repair his brother's machine a bad idea? Probably. But he hadn't touched the stuff since he first came here to help his brother, and finally having someone to get drunk with was just the bait he needed to throw caution to the wind and forget the whole nightmarish thing for a while. Being around Rick was like an odd temptation to join the skinny man in his drinking and debauchery. Back when they had both been younger, they had gotten into some legal trouble together. Many of their scams and adventures had primarily been fueled by alcohol. Sometimes other things. It had been a roaring great time, and many half-memories were formed from the experiences, though Stan's life of drugs and alcohol had cooled once he and Rick parted ways. He was never really much of a druggy anyway… Give him a few cans of beer and he was great! Ah, but Rick…always had to step it up. Take it to the next level, the extreme. It was a seemingly fun lifestyle, but here he was; with nothing but a hangover and a night's worth of work wasted, Stan didn't really have anything to show for his drinking contest with Rick.

In a deep contrast with their nights of drinking in the past, last night's drunken escapade had been filled with a lot of crying and screaming to the heavens. As the two men sat at the kitchen table nursing a glass of water and a damp washcloth on their heads, Stan couldn't really remember what had happened last night. Weird flashes of depression, anger…he definitely remembered sobbing and clinging onto Rick. Talk about awkward… Even now, the other man didn't really look back at Stan, his gaze was turned away as he pulled out a flask and began to alternate between the water and the liquor. Stan narrowed his eyes at the sight. "Man, what are you, an alcoholic? We still have hangovers! You don't need more of that stuff." Rick had shed off his long sleeved shirt, revealing a dirty tank top underneath. With that over shirt off, Stan could now see just how skinny Rick was, almost gangly and bony. For a moment, he wondered if the other man was sick or something… His clothes could definitely use a wash too. Stains were splattered all over, and not all of it was from their little alcohol party last night. Some of the stains seemed to have been on Rick when he arrived. As for Stan, he'd slipped into some slippers and shrugged on a little robe to provide some layering over top of his tank top and boxers.

"D-don't tell me what I do or don't need, **Stanl-ley**." Rick replied curtly, and as if to spite him, the man abandoned his water to choke down more alcohol instead. He let out an obnoxious burp, not even wiping aside some of the alcohol on his lip, and leaned back in his chair. His feet found a spot on the table to rest. "It h-helps." Though whether Rick meant it helped the hangover or whatever demons he had, Stan wasn't sure.

"Well don't get too drunk on me, I still need your help. And I need you to have a clear head for it." Stan stood up from the table and opened the fridge to see what he had. There were a couple of eggs, some sausages and bacon…any other time this would be great! Seeing how he was pretty hungover though, Stan abandoned the fridge and grabbed a loaf of bread off of the counter instead, slipping two slices into the toaster slots. What was the use of having great food like that, if he might just throw it all back up?

"H-help?" For the first time since last night, Rick looked over at Stan, who seemed to be leaning on the counter for support as he waited on the toaster. "W-what help? I thought you just wanted a d-dose of Rick, for old time's sake." He gestured to himself with a thumb and a sleazy smile. Everybody needed a dose of Rick every now and again!

Stan glanced back at the other man, brows furrowed. "I didn't tell you last night?"

Rick shrugged carelessly and settled back against his chair. "Well, you b-bitched about that asshole father of y-your's…c-cried about your brother's l-lost dog or something, but I don't recall needing my h-help with anything…"

"Lost dog…?" Stan shook his head and turned to face Rick completely, face quite stony and stern. "My brother is the one who's lost, not his dog! I don't even think he HAS a dog…"

"…" Rick's gaze flattened, quickly becoming annoyed with the other man. He scoffed, and waved a hand in Stan's direction flippantly. "So call the c-cops, Stanley, I-I didn't think I had to f-fucking… HOLD your hand about h-how you handle a missing person's case."

"As if! THEY can't help me, Rick, but YOU can." The burlier man insisted, pointing a thick finger right at Rick.

"Uh-huh." Uncaring, Rick made to take another drink, but he jolted as Stan suddenly appeared at his side. A large hand wrapped around Rick's slim one and physically forced the flask away from him. Rick's lips puckered towards the opening of his flask before snarling at the other man. "W-what the fuck, Stan?!"

"You're the ONLY ONE who can help, Rick!" Stan's voice was strained, desperate. No matter how much Rick's hands pulled and tugged, Stan had a lot more muscle than he did. His muscles clenched stubbornly as he stared down into Rick's eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing, but you can help me! You're…you're SMART!"

Rick struggled against him stubbornly, glaring at him. He was halfway tempted to spit in his friend's face to make him let go, but for the sake of their history he held back from it. Instead, he sneered. "I don't get why you need MY help to find your b-brother! What, you want me to track down his-his-his DNA or somethin'? I'm not a DETECTIVE, Stan! S-snorting cocaine doesn't make you a fucking…fucking Sherlock HOLMES."

The stockier man tightened his grip. " _I need you_. I need you, you **idiot**. Nobody else can do the things you can! Especially not me!" His voice was thick with emotion, very close to shaking the thinner man. "I need to save him!"

"Ah shit…" Rick openly grimaced, the mood turning to a direction he really didn't like. If he wanted to have an emotional breakdown with somebody, he'd have gone to his ex-wife's place. He wanted to hang out, shoot the shit with an old friend! Not…whatever this was. Rick's noggin told him that something was going on. Something that wasn't a simple missing person's case. He pulled away from the other man, finally wrenching his hands free. His flask was held tightly to his chest, almost protective. "A-alright…alright, a-after we eat, hows about you explain to me what you need my help with, exactly? And maybe tell me what's going on, instead of bluuuubbering on like some sort of p-pussy."

Stan grinned tearfully, pulling the man in close for a hug and ignoring the fact that the two of them combined smelled like a gym bag rolled in garbage and alcohol. "Thank you thank you thank you…oh god Rick, THANK you…"

Rick however, grimaced, both hands up in the air and refusing to touch his friend. "Jesus Christ, j-just get to the point of all this, this is-is-is just…ugh. It's like-like padding, yanno? It's filler!"

"Huh?" Stan pulled away from the hug and blinked at his friend, suddenly feeling as if he were missing out on something… Like an inside joke, or… or a secret.

Rick sighed at his friend's clueless tone, inwardly cursing his own intelligence and awareness of certain facts. Not everybody could know the things he did, alas… Would make their little brains explode. "Let's just get this o-over with… Give me some f-fucking toast and hand me the butter."

* * *

The trip down to the basement had been interesting, Stan was all nerves as he kept looking at Rick, gauging his responses to everything. Mostly, it was boredom. A few stains on the walls or cobwebs in the corner drew a grimace, but otherwise he seemed unimpressed with a hidden underground bunker. It was a huge contrast to his own reaction when his brother had led him down here, so much shock and confusion… Stanley Pines led the way, and finally showed his friend exactly what was so important. A huge, triangular machine stood before them, no blinky lights or anything. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a dead machine. Like an amusement park that had been abandoned for too long. Four metal circles, two in the ground and two above those in the ground, all of them just as deactivated as the triangle. The man faced the portal, hands on his hips. "My brother, he made this weird…watchamajig machine. We got into a fight and…and I kinda pushed him into it. He could be anywhere, and I don't know how to turn this thing back on. He said the blueprints were in three journals he made but…but I only have one of them. I've been working on this thing for months, maybe even a year…made the Murder Hut upstairs to keep the lights running and keep myself fed while I figure this out, and the people up there knew my brother, not me. So…Stanley Pines became Stanford Pines. Nobody even noticed the difference." A sad smile graced his lips, sighing lightly. "So…that's why I called you here." Stan turned to find…an unimpressed Rick breezing through the physics textbooks laying on the desk, attention obviously not on Stan. "Hey!" Stan stomped his way over and slapped the book out of his hands. "Did you hear ANYTHING I just said?!"

"Yeah, I h-heard enough to know that your brother's an idiot." Rick answered, giving a brief glance to the portal before turning his head away to inspect some other minor detail of the basement, in this case the little glowing symbol on the side of the desk.

The stockier man huffed loudly, stomping a slipper into the ground as he waved wildly at the machine. "Are you—my brother's a GENIUS, do you see this thing he made?!" Stan may have had issues with his brother, MANY issues, but he could never doubt how smart his brother was. This machine was like living proof, no matter how awful it was!

"Yeah." Rick burped, idly fanning a hand in front of his mouth. "Your brother made a giant portal that instantly turned off the moment someone entered it, presumably without a portal on the other side to make his way back here."

"…" Stan stared at him, aghast. Shocked by just how…emotionless he was about this. About the machine. About what Stan had revealed to him…! His hands tightened into fists as his breathing began to get shallow.

"I-in fact, he should have made this thing portable. You know? Like…like if this thing shut down after he went in, what were h-his plans for when he entered it on his own? J-just stay lost? Shoulda made it smaller, too. I-I mean really, what was he gonna put in that thing? A car? A house?" Rick laughed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

Stan tsked, crossing his arms over his chest. Sure, he'd always been a bit jealous of his brother' smarts, but having his friend put his brother down like this wasn't exactly great… It irked him, as though Rick was openly making fun of his brother. Long-standing issues or not, nobody made fun of the poindexter but him!

"A-and why do you even want to find your brother anyway?" Tension seemed to fill the air, not that Rick seemed to notice. Both hands were in his jean pockets, staring back at Stan with a tilted head and genuine curiosity.

"…" Stan's head slowly turned to face Rick, a dangerous look in his eyes. "What."

"Your b-brother's a _dick_." The words slipped out of Rick's mouth so easily, frightfully easily. The insult seemed to linger in the air among them, strangling Stan as Rick went on. "He let your d-dad toss you out of the house, then h-he made a stupid portal that he couldn't even work correctly. A-and why would you put the blueprints in three different books and hide them? H-he's just asking to be left behind!" Rick threw an arm around Stan, seemingly unaware of the look on his face, the bulkier man shaking with rage. "Why d-don't we go out like old times, huh? J-just you and me, forget your asshole brother. He m-made his bed, he was too stupid to account for something like this. You don't owe him a-anything, pal!" A sleazy smile stretched its way across Rick's face, immediately drawing a sneer onto Stan's.

"…He's my **_brother_**."

Rick blinked at Stan, unibrow raised on one side. "Huh?"

Stan pushed Rick's off, feet planted into the ground. "He's my BROTHER, Rick! He's my TWIN!" A finger jabbed its way into Rick's chest. "I can't just LEAVE him in there!"

Now it was Rick's turn to scowl, scoffing to himself. "Y-you think you two have some FUCKING special bond?! W-why, because you f-fucking shared the same SPACE in your mother's god damn WOMB?" He laughed, hard, right in Stan's face. "Yeah, some twin he was, huh? R-running off to college and letting YOU hit rock bottom alone!" He shoved Stan back, though with his reedy arms he barely budged him.

"I pushed him in there, Rick! I need to get him back, and make things right!" Stan's voice strained desperately, hands gripping onto Rick's shoulders, almost begging him to understand.

The smaller man glared up at Stan defiantly. "Oh yeah? What did he e-ever do for you, huh?! I thought you were smarter than this, Stan! Not another fucking s-sheep! I-I thought you understood that-that just because someone is 'family' doesn't mean you have to be blindly loyal to them!"

Stan punched Rick in the face, sending him toppling onto the ground. The man heaved like a beleaguered beast, eyes wide and angry. "YOU DON'T KNOW THE _MEANING_ OF THE WORD! YOU LEFT YOUR WIFE AND DAUGHTER BEHIND, WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME HOW TO TREAT MY BROTHER WHEN YOU COULDN'T DO RIGHT BY YOUR OWN _FAMILY_?!" Just as soon as the angry words left him, Stan took a good look at Rick, on his hands and knees on the ground, and winced. Both hands flew up in the air defensively, remembering what happened the last time he got into a fight in this room. "Ah geez, I-I'm sorry, Rick. I'm sorry, please…please just see what you can do." Stan approached his fallen friend, reaching out, only for his hands to be slapped away.

Rick's face lifted, blood dribbling down the side of his face. His nose was already beginning to swell up and bruise, as was a cheek. He glared, hard, mouth grimacing as he stared up at Stan, not bothering to wipe away the blood. "F-fuck you, Stan. You finally c-call me, after all these y-years, after faking your DEATH...so I can do something for you. Clean up your f-fucking mess, save s-some asshole that doesn't deserve it. That's all I am to y-you people, is a solution to a p-problem. Well you know what I say to that?" His mouth closed, tongue swishing for a moment. He spit, the noise seeming to echo around them, as the ground in front of Stan's feet was suddenly splashed in red. Blood. "Do it YOURSELF. Have f-fun with those stupid f-fucking books for babies!" Almost shaky, Rick picked himself up and began to walk away, not once looking back.

Stan stared, watching his only hope leaving him behind. He wanted to run, grab Rick and pull him back. Offer every apology in the book, make every promise and bribe he could think of. ANYTHING to bring him back and make him fix the portal machine. His body had frozen however, and it was only once he heard the door upstairs slam shut that Stan finally moved, collapsing to his knees.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everybody who's left kudos, commented, bookmarked, and read this little story! It's the first time I've written a fanfiction in a long time and I'm glad to see that people are interested in this story! Though Gravity Falls may have ended, and Rick and Morty has a long hiatus til the next season, we can always turn to fanfic to bide our time!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Rick and Stan are friends, and have many similarities, but on the topic of family, they definitely clash.


End file.
